There is so much to humanity that gets lost in the scale of the universe. Something that made me greet the cold indifference of the universe head on, and defy it as I pushed forward into life. I wanted a challenge, I wanted to do something I love. It was my voice, telling me what I wanted in life. But then Camus, and Sisyphus, and I started listening to a voice in my head that had been silenced long ago. We travel from one point, birth, to another point, death, and hope to prosper on the way.īut why? Why do we care? Why do we want to live? Why should we live? What is the point of all this?Īnd this line of questioning, led me to dark places, where it seemed the only escape was a final escape. Like raindrops, our fate was bore as our journey began. We could name all of the raindrops if we liked and found the time. Only the naming and following of said raindrop so closely distinguishes it from the millions that fall next to, before, and after it. I feel as if I am a single raindrop identified and named in a monsoon. We, as humans, can’t help but think about the big picture, and suddenly our existence seems to stop mattering. Nothing we do can matter in the grand scheme of things. No rocks we move can carve our place in the history of the universe, for we are just organic matter moving around other organic and inorganic matter. The confrontation between the meaninglessness of a single life in an infinite universe. The rock is the absurdity of the universe. Man is here on Earth, with limited faculties, but within those faculties lie the ability to comprehend our place in the universe. Ironically that someone was a dead Frenchman, but I felt connected like never before. All other questions follow from that.”įor the first time in my life, I felt not alone. Deciding whether or not life is worth living, is to answer the fundamental question in philosophy. “There is only one true philosophical problem, and that is suicide. My junior year of college, I took a philosophy class that introduced me to the philosophical essay, “The Myth of Sisyphus.” Which begins with a phrase that most certainly caught Suicidal Sam’s attention. So I suffered in quiet, alone in my own head. I was taught that mental health issues are shameful, and are not to be discussed. It seemed to be the only thought that permeated my head, nearly everyday, for many years. I used to spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about suicide. That’s my stock answer, and it’s partially right, but hides the truth with its seemingly peaceful musing. We have a small brew system, so we are like Sisyphus, always brewing.” “He’s the greek guy, you know the one that pushes a rock up a hill over and over again. Why did you name your brewery Sisyphus? Where did the name come from? I have been asked these questions thousands of times, but I have in the past been afraid to give the true answer.
0 kommentar(er)
